Prompt

A single, selfsustaining network of bioluminescent roots sprawls across the ceiling of a vast, abandoned subway tunnel carved into the bedrock of a forgotten city, each root not made of organic matter but of solidified radio waves from longdead broadcasts, their glow pulsing in sync with the frequency of a song that was never finished. The roots do not growthey resonate, emitting not light but a low, harmonic vibration that causes the tunnel walls to ripple like liquid metal, revealing faint, ghostly outlines of advertisements for products that never existed, their text written in a language that decays into static when read aloud. The floor is not concreteit is a thick, viscous layer of compressed silence, its surface cracked in

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